


Superheroes Don't Count

by AnotherAvidFanboy



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Brotp, Doubting Dorks, Gen, Sciles, Scott McCall & Stiles Stilinski Friendship, Skittles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-05
Updated: 2014-08-05
Packaged: 2018-02-08 20:07:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,798
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1954578
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnotherAvidFanboy/pseuds/AnotherAvidFanboy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Believe or not, there was a time Stiles was convinced that Scott's best friend was Batman.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Superheroes Don't Count

They were thirteen, the year Stiles decided that windows made for better entrances.

“Dude,” Stiles said, tossing Scott's inhaler to his face, “ouch, probably have to work on my aim.”

Scott shot him a halfhearted glare, threw a pillow or two in retaliation, and crashed back into his bed, muffling Stiles' manic laughter with a blanket over his head. But, Stiles would not let Scott have it, his 'unnecessary' 8 hours of sleep. And for the 122nd time since they had this argument, Stiles will begin his tirade against sleep. 

_Scotty, Scotty, Scotty — who needs sleep when we have Red Bull?_

Stiles pushed him off his bed, the same mischievous glint Scott's seen for 9 years in place.

"Now, tell me. Was that not the awesomest entrance by a thirteen year old in the history of ever?"

"Stiles, my room's on the second floor. You could've broken your arm."

“And?” Stiles paced the room, stepping on all the floorboards that creaked. He sent Scott a toothy grin as if invoking the wrath of a tired, post-graveyard shift Mrs. McCall was the best idea he had ever come up with.

(To give Stiles credit, it wasn’t exactly one of his worst ones either. Unless it worked — and with their luck, it usually did.)

“Dude, I don’t know what’s more suicidal,” Scott tiptoed to where Stiles stood, as careful as Stiles was carefree, “climbing through my window at 4 AM or trying to wake up my mom after her third graveyard shift in a row but you need to stop. For both our sakes.”

Unfortunately, whisper-shouting was as ineffective on Stiles as the possibility of being grounded for life was effective on Scott. He weighed his choices, looking around his room for a way to veer Stiles’ attention away from getting them both in trouble. But, his flashlight was a dud and his Playstation was downstairs so he sighed, sat, and crossed his fingers. Hopefully, this wouldn’t be the scheme that killed them.

 _4 minutes. That’s a new record, Scotty._ Stiles thought, pocketing his phone and making a mental note to brush up on his pitching skills later.

“So, you might be wondering,” he abandoned Scott’s creaking floorboards, opting to spin around the swivel chair as all great masterminds must, “ ‘How exactly did the great Stiles Stilinski even get this awesome idea?’ and I’m telling you, Scott, it was no easy feat— ”

Stiles heard Scott mutter something along the lines of 'more like getting us in danger on a weekly basis' but, being the solid bro he was, ignored Scott's utter lameness.

"But I was lying down when it occurred to me that say your best friend, Batman — your best friend is Batman, right? If it's Aquaman, I'm disowning you right now and possibly breaking my arm trying to escape you."

"We've gone over this, Stiles, comic book characters don't count." Scott's eyebrows furrowed and they shared a look of confusion. "And, dude, Batman's like old enough to be my dad."

"Robin, then? Or Batgirl, oh Scotty, you sly fox." Stiles punched him playfully then raised his hand for a high five only to be met with a look of bemusement. "What? Is it a Teen Titan?"

"Stiles, my best friend is not a rogue teenager defending Jump City."

"Just a rogue teenager then?" Stiles looked at him, chin held between his thumb and forefingers, forehead crinkling as if in deep thought. Surely he must've known, right? Scott was supposed to be the dense one.

"I got it!" He jumped, out of the swivel as quickly as he was on it. "DANNY MAHEALANI."

"Stiles, no."

"Mark Woo."

"Mark Woo has 5 friends, Stiles."

"Blame the GPA requirements his parents set, buddy." Scott can almost see him ticking off the few people they knew off the list, can almost hear the gears turning and churning up new names.

"Frederico... What was his last name, Scotty?"

"It was star in Spanish— remember you kept asking him if he was related to Patrick Star?"

"Empanada? España? Escolta? Estrada? DUDE." Stiles shouted, his epiphany proclaimed in his bedroom, death by mom nearing absolute. "ESTRELLA."

“Scott?” Melissa called out from downstairs, a measly flight of steps away from his impending doom. “What was that?”

“Uhhh…” He looked at Stiles, expecting much needed help.

“Just…” Okay, Stiles was pretending to read a book. “Uhhh…”

“Studying…” He’s crossing his fingers, hoping his mom bought it but knowing she didn’t. “Astronomy?”

“In Spanish?”

Scott has to clamp Stiles’ mouth shut to keep him from blowing their paper-thin cover and even then, he’s sure the tremors from Stiles’ suppressed laughs had stretched them too far.

Melissa sighed, shaking her head. There was only one person her thirteen-year old son would try to cover for.

“You have school at 7, so try to get some sleep, okay?” They cracked the door open to see her retreating figure, only to get heart attacks when she spared them a sideways glance. “And you too, Stiles.”

“Are you sure your mom isn’t clairvoyant?”

“I think it was more of the fact that I told her I was studying Astronomy in Spanish at 4 AM.”

They dissolved into a fit of giggles, happiness no longer repressed and the threat of Mom-related death successfully circumvented.

“BOYS.”

“Sorry, Mom!” Scott shouted, shoving Stiles as he tried to try out a poorly-executed piledriver on him.

“Yeah, Sorry, Mrs. McCall!” Stiles called out after the retreating footsteps, listening for the signature this-is-the-last-time grumble (and the accompanying this-won’t-be-the-last-time sigh following it.)

“So, buddy,” Stiles said, going back to his lotus position on a worn part of the carpet, “Frederico Estrella?”

“Stiles,” Scott sighed. “Frederico was a foreign-exchange student who stayed for _a week_. Not to mention he doesn’t speak _English_.”

“That’s not a no. Oh my god, Scott, _Fred Star_ is your best friend?”

“No.”

“Did he teach you that?”

“Huh?”

“Scotty,” Stiles laughed, eyes crinkling. “The Spanish word for no is no.”

“Oh, yeah, I knew that. Okay, Stiles, it’s not that funny. Okay, Stiles, _shut up._ ”

Stiles’ laughs were cut short, mirth draining out of his body as cold hard realization settled in. He was staring at him; the disbelief in his eyes had Scott fidgeting as if he were the one that needed Adderall.

“No, no, no, no…” Stiles was whispering to himself, already lost in his own thoughts. Surely, Scott’s best friend wasn’t— he knew better than that, right? He paced back and forth, words tumbling out as he lost control of his filter.

“Stiles?”

“Jackson Whittemore.”

“Huh?”

“He’s your best friend.” Stiles was chewing his lip, eyes darting everywhere.

“Stiles, the last time he was nice to us was in third grade. And that was with Ms. Turner was threatening him with a time out.”

“Or he was using it was a ruse to charm you over to the dark side.”

“Stiles, we were nine.”

“And he was five when he pushed me into that ant hill.”

“Stiles, who’s your best friend?” The question came out subdued, said quickly out of embarrassment. Scott was sure Stiles didn’t hear him as he still continued on sorting his thoughts aloud.

“…it’s too bad not all forces of evil can be stopped with a time out, right? Maybe, Ms. Turner is just her cover, Scott.” He grabbed a pen and the nearest notebook he could find and started scribbling. “And she was actually Time-out Turner, foresworn enemy of evil in elementary school form and she’d have this yard stick of power right—”

It’s amazing how easily Stiles came into focus when he saw that troubled look in Scott’s face. Although, he’s probably only seen it once or twice, the uncontrollable chatter in his head turned into radio silence. He missed something; that he was sure of.

He looked up at Scott, Time-out Turner and her yardstick of justice forgotten albeit momentarily. “Were you saying something, Scotty?” he asked.

“Um, nothing, it’s stupid.” Scott tried laughing it off, engrossing himself in Stiles’ drawing.

“Can’t be if you look that upset.” Scott shrugged and Stiles has to do his best to play it cool. “Okay, let’s pretend it is. Mind telling me anyway?”

“Stiles, who’s your best friend?” It’s still barely above a whisper but it was slower now and Stiles was listening intently.

“Well, that’s a tough one, Scott.” Stiles held up four fingers. “I have four friends and three of them are imaginary.”

“ _Stiles,_ I’m serious.”

“But seriously, dude, who else could be my best friend?” Scott didn’t budge, apparently adamant in his  need for embarrassing Stiles. “Oh ye of little faith, it’s you, duh.”

Stiles was smiling at him and if it weren’t for the fact that he was still completely unaware that he was Scott’s best friend too, Scott would’ve sniffled a little. He would’ve bawled if it weren’t for the pinky swear when they were seven to stop being crybabies; the one-dollar penalties had already dealt some serious damage to his allowance.

Scott trudged to his drawer, fishing out his favorite jacket. He stuck his arm through the sleeves, trying to act as casual as possible. He turned to face the window, inhaler tucked safely in his pockets.

“So why aren’t you my best friend?” He asked, as befuddled as he was since the first day they met.

“I don’t know, Scott.” He stared at him, wearing that sarcastic smile again. “That’s something you should answer.”

“Stiles, you know what I mean.”

“I guess you had so many friends I didn’t really expect it to be me, you know?” Stiles smiled at him, a strange mixture of apologetic and surprised in his eyes.

“Stiles, hardly anyone’s fighting for the scrawny asthmatic kid’s attention.” Stiles clasped Scott’s shoulder, shaking him lightly. It always seemed to get him out of his funk.

“Hey, hey, hey, I’m for fighting for the scrawny asthmatic kid’s attention.” Stiles stood beside him, eyeing the sun rising lazily in the horizon. “As everyone should. Anyone who can talk to Jackson without choking him deserves an award.”

Scott laughed, shaking his head with one leg out of the windowsill. “So, you were saying?”

“Ah, yes, where were we?”

“Something like ‘say my best friend, Stiles, was crazy and wanted to kill us both?’”

“Sounds amazing already, Scotty.” Stiles chuckled, arm over Scott’s shoulder, readying himself for the chilly air outside. “Now we have school in an hour so we don’t have a lot of time…”

* * *

 

“Scott! Stiles! You have school in 10 minutes.” Melissa entered the room, greeted by muddy sleeping figures. She shook her head, slamming the door followed by surprised shouts and a resounding thud. “You have 4 minutes to get ready!”

“ _Shit, Stiles, it’s still sore.”_

_“We’ll get some ice for it later. Stop holding it; your tushy's fine!”_

 

**Author's Note:**

> So, this was my first time fooling around with these dorks. Hahaha, sorry if the characterization was meh.


End file.
